


No such thing...

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Post War, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-10
Updated: 2008-02-10
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: There's no such thing as a happy ending, but small steps are better than nothing.





	No such thing...

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Beta work by wolfiekins.

"Ron?"   
  
_The slightly hesitant voice was lost amidst the battle as instructions were screamed to people mere feet away. The chaos of the scene around him was making conversation all but impossible. Ron refused to allow himself to be overwhelmed by the situation; he had to stay focused. There was no other option._ _  
_  
"Ron?"   
_  
_Ron stopped for a second, sure that he had heard the briefest whisper of a voice carried on the wind. He shook his head and met the eyes of a terrified young man. He wasn't completely sure of his name, but knew that he had recently joined the DA. He was doing his best to keep track of the DA members, both old and new._  
  
_"Keep your head down, and your eyes open, okay mate?" he said, painfully aware that it wasn't the best advice in the world, but it was all he had to offer. The young man in front of him drew a shaky breath and nodded his head. Then, the chaos swallowed him, as he threw himself into the battle._  
  
_ "Ron?"  
_  
_The voice grew louder and time passed by in a rapid blur._  
  
_He fell to the ground as a spell whizzed past his head, spinning around in the mud and throwing back a hurried response. He didn't even have time to see his attacker fall, as his attention was focused firmly on the two figures in the centre of the battlefield. He knew the battle strategy like the back of his hand. He knew the plans and the back-up plans. He had even helped to create and devise a number of them._  
  
_He knew exactly where he was supposed to be...where he needed to be._  
  
_He quickly made his way towards the two figures everyone else was trying to protect in one way or the other._  
_  
_"Harry," Ron whispered as he scanned the area, searching for any Death Eaters who intended trying to take out his friend. He was poised and ready to protect Harry and allow him to do what he needed to do. He knew that Hermione was doing the same on the opposite side of the battlefield._ _  
  
_But something wasn't right._  
  
_He fought to catch his breath and realised that his hands were shaking._  
  
_Something wasn't right._  
_  
"Ron."  
_  
_He searched the battlefield for the familiar faces he knew it held, but found that the colours of the scene were changing. The hectic scene around him became muted and the colours faded to grey._  
  
_The only colour that remained was red._  
  
_He could see the vivid red that drenched the grass at his feet. He could see angry gashes that cut across the faces of his friends. The blood remained vibrant and red in a world that had suddenly become grey._  
  
_ "Ron!" _  
_  
_The voice became louder and the battlefield began to fade away, but Ron's attention was drawn to his hands. His hands were streaked with disturbing shades of sharp crimson, but he refused to drop his wand. He followed the pattern of red as it wound its way around his hands and disappeared up the sleeve of his jumper. The pain that followed began in his fingertips and raced its way to his shoulders. Old wounds mixed with new as the pain intensified, but his hand remained clenched around his wand._ __  
  
"Ron!" 

__

_  
_ "Ron!"  
  
He sat up suddenly in his bed. His eyes swept across the moon lit room as he tried to slow his breathing to normal.   
  


His hand was still clenched and he forced himself to relax and flex his fingers, wincing as he did so. He was grateful to realise that the pain was quickly draining away this time.  
  
While the dreams were not new, he didn't think he'd ever get used to them. He stumbled out of the bed and made his way over to the small window he always left open. Taking deep breaths of the cool night air helped to steady him a bit and he was able to make some sense of things. He realised that once again he had fallen into bed still wearing his jumper and jeans. He'd just about managed to remove his shoes when he'd arrived home last night, falling completely dressed on top of his bed.   
  
It wasn't the first or last time that would ever happen, so he wasn't all that worried about it. But there was something else...  
  
There was a voice. Someone had been calling for him, he realised just before he heard the same voice coming through the open bedroom door.  
  
"Ron? Are you there?"   
  
There was an undeniable worried tone to the familiar voice.   
  
"Damn it!"  
  
He quickly threw himself across the room, through the door and towards the living room of his small flat, stubbing his toe on the door frame along the way.   
  
He half hobbled and hopped over to the fireplace, noting the familiar face hovering in the hearth and dropping to his knees.   
  
"Sorry...didn't hear you...was asleep...what time is it anyway?"  
  
The young woman in the embers looked hesitantly over her shoulder for a moment before she responded.   
  
"It's nearly 3am. Ron, I'm so sorry to have to call you like this again, but you said I should let you know..." her voice trailed away, but Ron didn't need to hear any more.   
  
"He's there again, isn't he?  Don't worry about it, I'll be there as soon as I can."  
  
He quickly jumped to his feet and missed the slightly hesitant look the face held before it disappeared.   
  
After retrieving his shoes from the corners of the room where they had been flung only a few hours previously, he found a coat and his keys and was halfway out the door before he realised that he'd forgotten something. He stormed back into the living room, to begin searching for his always elusive gloves. They weren't essential, but he'd quickly learned that they made things more manageable. He flexed the fingers of his right hand experimentally and winced. The gloves definitely made things more controllable.   
  
"Don't have time for this," he muttered as he drew his wand from the back pocket of his jeans and aimed it towards the dilapidated sofa beside the window.   
  
" _Accio gloves._ "  
  
A small smile crept across his face as a deluge of gloves emerged from within, under and behind the sofa. He stepped over the main bulk of material, snatched two black gloves and put them on as he headed out the door. 

  
The pub was quiet as he pushed open the heavy door and made his way inside. It was a strange, anonymous type of place, nestled between the magical and Muggle worlds. Ron knew it well. He had been here often enough in the past few months. There were only one or two people left in the pub. He knew however that the customers were long gone. The bar staff were eager to close the pub and get home and that's why he was here in the early hours of the morning. He made his way over to the young woman who was wiping down the bar,   
  
"I'm sorry about this, Lavender."  
  
She raised her head and smiled at him before she responded.  "It's not your fault Ron. Haven't I been telling you that for months now?"  
  
"Yeah, I know." Ron said as he leaned against the bar.  "It's just that I really appreciate you doing this. I know it'd be a lot easier on you if you just threw him out."  
  
"Don't worry about it Ron," she said as she threw the cloth under the counter.    “Besides, what are old friends for?"   
  
"I know...but still...thanks," Ron said as he looked around the bar.   
  
"He's over there in the corner," Lavender said quietly as she nodded towards the far end of the bar. She watched him for a moment, before she whispered something to her colleague and disappeared out a back door.   
  
Ron quickly made his way over to the darkened corner, the unmistakable stench of firewhiskey hitting him as he walked. He ran a gloved hand across his face and sighed.  "C'mon Charlie, let's go home, yeah?"  
  
Uncharacteristic silence greeted him, and it wasn't until he got closer that he realised why. It was the wrong brother.   
  
"Percy?"

  
Ron stumbled through the doorway, staggering slightly as he struggled to get his swaying brother into his flat. It turned out that Percy was a quiet drunk, unlike Charlie who would alternate between singing and sobbing. There had been a moment when Ron had been tempted to leave Percy in that darkened corner, but it quickly disappeared. He didn't want his mum getting a floo call in the middle of the night. She'd had enough of those over the last year or so.   
  
Besides, he may not care for Percy, but he was still his brother. He was family.   
  
He kicked the small mountain of gloves out of the way and threw his brother onto the sofa.   
  
"You can stay here tonight," he instructed the drunken figure as he walked back out of the room.   
  
"Ron, I'm sorry about all this."   
  
He stopped in the doorway.  "Yeah, I'm sure you are Percy," he said, having heard many elaborate variations of this line over the past few months. He scanned the room and made his way towards a slightly shrivelled potted plant. It had been a flat warming present from Hermione, but he hoped that she'd understand. He unceremoniously removed the plant from its pot before setting it on the ground beside Percy.   
  
"If you're going to throw up, try and at least to aim for the pot."

  
The next morning found Ron warming his hands on a large mug of tea and flicking through the paper. His gaze kept drifting toward the living room door. He really wasn't sure how to deal with Percy. Retrieving a drunken Charlie from the pub had became all too familiar.... but Percy? That was a different matter entirely. He had spent very little time with his brother over the past few months. Even when Percy had apologised and finally realised what side he should have been fighting with all along, it was difficult to forget the words and actions that had wounded his family in more ways than one.   
  
They had all had to deal with things their own way. His mum had once told him that it was all about getting a balance between forgetting what he had done, and forgiving him for it. She had said that while she could never forget, she would always forgive. Ron wasn't so sure about how he felt about things. Everything had been so crazy for so long, it was hard to figure things out now.   
  
A sharp pain raced through his hand and up his arm, wounds and scars both old and new creating pain to remind him of the time of the day. The morning routine still caught him somewhat unaware at times. He sat his tea down and moved to the cupboard above the sink, quickly retrieving the familiar jar. He rolled up his sleeves and forced himself to look at his arms and hands as he quickly applied the analgesic cream.   
  
"It's true then," Percy whispered as he stood in the kitchen doorway, hair dishevelled and glasses sitting crookedly on his nose. "I didn't realise it was so bad, Ron."  
  
Ron jumped at the voice and rolled his sleeves back down.  He tossed the jar back into the cupboard, shutting the door with a slam.   
  
"Mind your own bloody business, Percy," he muttered, retrieving his mug of tea.  After a few sips, he decided to make himself some toast. The silence was almost stifling for a few moments before Percy hesitantly came into the kitchen and sat down in a chair near the door.   
  
"I'm sorry they called you last night Ron," he said as he rested his head in his hands.  "I really didn't mean to turn up on your doorstep like this."  
  
Ron focused on buttering his toast before he glanced over at his brother.   
  
"Sore head?"   
  
Percy covered his face with his hands. "It feels as if that old ghoul from the Burrow has moved into my head and is refusing to leave. Would it be asking too much for some of that Hangover potion?"  
  
"Sorry," Ron said as he returned to the table and took a slice of toast from the plate in front of him "I haven't got any more since the last time Charlie was here."   
  
Percy let out a rather uncharacteristic and completely pathetic moan.   
  
"Besides," Ron added ruefully, "according to Hermione that potion just postpones the inevitable and perpetuates the cycle."  
  
Percy looked up and raised his eyebrows in a silent question.  
  
Ron had to smile.  "Her words, not mine. Believe me."  He pushed the plate of toast toward his brother.  "I just haven't got a chance to get some more in, what with drunken brothers turning up in my flat on a weekly basis."   
  
"About that...."  
  
"Percy, just stop okay?  Water under the bridge and all...."  
  
Percy cast his eyes about the small kitchen.  "This is the first time I've seen your flat. It's nice."  
  
"Percy, at least be honest, it's a right mess."  Ron waved an arm around the room. "But it's my mess."   
  
The elder Weasley eventually nodded his head. "Yes, it's a mess. But, it _is_ a nice flat."   
  
There was an awkward moment as both young men realised that they really didn't know what to say to each other. Neither wanted to broach the more serious subjects this early in the morning...if ever. And they were not really ready for the small talk side of things. Percy, however, wasn't quite ready to give up. He reached for a piece of toast, moving a red jumper carefully out of the way.   
  
"Looks a bit small for you Ron," he said as he sat the jumper carefully on a nearby chair and taking a cautious bite of toast.   
  
Ron ran a hand across his face and roughly through his hair, debating with himself as to whether or not to tell Percy the truth.   
  
"It's not mine," he said as he watched Percy's face carefully. "It's Harry's."  
  
"Oh.  I see."  
  
Silence once again enveloped the tiny kitchen. It was the one thing they had never talked about since that infamous letter. Ron tapped his foot on the floor, suddenly anxious for more of a response from his brother and angry with himself for wanting it.   
  
He was tired of waiting. Tired of being angry.  
  
For months now he had been listening to overly elaborate apologies from his brother, and he was tired of it. All he wanted to hear was that Percy was sorry. Instead he got recitals of the many different ways Percy had tried to do good but had gotten swept along in the other direction.   
  
He just couldn't hear it any more.  
  
"Help yourself to whatever," he said as he waved a hand towards the cupboards and headed towards the door. Slamming it shut on his hung-over brother was starting to seem like a good idea.   
  
"Ron."   
  
Once again Ron found himself hovering in a doorway at the sound of his brother's voice. But this time he refused to turn around.   
  
"I _am_ sorry."  The determination was clearly evident in his voice; it was however tinged with hope. "Things were never meant to be this way."  
  
A sad smile ghosted across Ron's face as he sighed.  "There's no such thing as a happy ending Percy. Surely you've figured that out by now."  
  
He paused a moment before walking away, making sure to leave the door wide open as he went. 

 

  
  
_End._


End file.
